


Amélie Lacroix

by like_froot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, No Beta, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_froot/pseuds/like_froot
Summary: “You don’t like violence. This is not you.”Another shot.“You are Amélie Lacroix, and you love dancing.”As if shooting could silence her own mind.





	Amélie Lacroix

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 20 minutes and it's probably terrible but you know what? fuck it. i love amélie and she deserves fucking better

She never thinks, she never argues. Widowmaker swallows her own venom, letting herself die slowly. She doesn’t care, cannot care any longer. Any feeling was forcefully erased from her when they tortured her, when they experimented on her.

 

As she is, she is only able to feel  _ something  _ when she pulls the trigger. She isn’t even sure of what the feeling is anymore.

 

Most of the time, anyways.

 

The recoil hurts her body. Her muscles are firm, but not made for this. She dislocates her shoulder often, but she is unfazed by pain. She puts it back in its place, and keeps shooting. Over, and over, and over.

 

She wants this to be over, too.

 

“You are not made for this.” a voice reminds her, from deep inside of her conscience. A voice that sounds suspiciously like hers. “Stop. You are hurting yourself.”

 

Widowmaker doesn’t listen. She can’t listen. Her hazel eyes remain vacant, focused on yet another objective. Another shot, another kill. Something twitches inside of her, but she ignores it methodically.

 

“You don’t like violence. This is not you.”

 

Another shot.

 

“You are Amélie Lacroix, and you love dancing.”

 

As if shooting could silence her own mind.

 

“You loved Gérard. More than anything. More than anyone. You loved him. You married him.”

 

Gérard. She remembers Gérard. The way he looked at her, his dark eyes sweet, warm. With genuine love and fondness. His hand taking hers, and inviting her to dance, when she wasn’t the one inviting him. Both of them dancing, close, very close. Their lips touching, his beautiful laugh against her lips. Their wedding, how handsome and happy he looked. The way his eyes used to shine when he talked about something he cared about. His sense of justice. How happy he made her.

 

His throat bloody, open, in front of her. Her hands stained. Her heart empty, even if a part of her screamed in horror, in pain, in grief. Nothingness engulfing her.

 

Widowmaker stops shooting for a second, her cheeks already wet. Her heart beating, still slowly, but faster than usual.

 

Her hands tremble, and she feels pain, both physical and emotional. She is cold, very cold, for a moment.

 

Until the nothingness takes her again, and her index finger goes back to the trigger. Shooting, not thinking. Just shooting. Until someone shoots her back, so her own personal hell is over.

 

Thinking about her own death gives her something akin to relief, somehow. Even behind the scope, Amélie cannot stop crying.

**Author's Note:**

> i love comments, they nourish my fragile heart


End file.
